It’s the weight of the guns and the lead in the bullets, the air between hold your breath and the gravity of minutes. It’s the lockdown lockout shelter in place, the thickness of a friend’s blood smeared on a child’s face to pretend she’s dead. It’s the weight of water crashing through levees and sequoias piled in ash. It’s the landmines sowed in the soil. It’s the weight of people doing nothing, of data centers filled with bullshit, of money based on bullshit. It’s the walls, the beautiful walls, we built. It’s not the sorrow. It’s the guilt.